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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243265">The Waffle House Fic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkdr0p/pseuds/inkdr0p'>inkdr0p</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IoniaFletcher/pseuds/IoniaFletcher'>IoniaFletcher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Autistic Castiel (Supernatural), Comfortably Bisexual Dean Winchester, Eggs, F/M, Idiots in Love, Lisa Braeden is a long suffering but wonderful girlfriend, M/M, No seriously lots of eggs, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Waffle House</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:26:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,654</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkdr0p/pseuds/inkdr0p, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IoniaFletcher/pseuds/IoniaFletcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean just wants runny eggs, for Lisa to stop asking him what he wants, and to stop noticing how hot the weird Waffle House guy is. Castiel just wants to understand what the Egg Guy with the perfect lips means when he says "runny eggs". Lisa just wants to stop having to go to the Waffle House all the damn time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>212</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Waffle House Fic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>inkdr0p: Thank you to whoever posted to r/relationships that their boyfriend was having an egg beef with the cook at their local Waffle House. This fic wouldn't exist without whatever those fools were getting up to.</p><p>IoniaFletcher: We had this idea that this was going to be some dark, enemies to lovers, hate fucking in an alley fic and instead we wrote... this. We also decided on the title because we figured that no matter what we called it, people would just refer to it as "The Waffle House Fic".</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Look, Dean understood why Lisa was getting sick of the Waffle House. It’s not like they couldn’t afford to go out on nice dates. And sometimes Dean would let her nag him into taking her to some fancy steakhouse where you paid a hundred bucks for a steak you didn’t have to cover in barbecue sauce. Dean cared about Lisa and he cared about giving her what she wanted. </p><p>It’s just that Dean wasn’t really a fancy steakhouse kind of guy. He was a diner kind of guy, places where the biscuits were drowned in sausage gravy and the waitresses were pros that snapped their gum and called you hon while balancing a meal for four on every inch of both their arms. </p><p>And Dean liked breakfast food. He still remembered nights when his dad was gone and his mom hugged him and made him pancakes for dinner, just to make him smile. He’d get sticky with syrup and his mom would wet a paper towel and wipe his face and hands, and she would kiss the top of his head and read to him until he fell asleep, warm and loved.</p><p>So, yeah, maybe Dean took them to Waffle House a little more often than a good boyfriend would have. But Lisa would just smile tightly and order coffee and read while Dean inhaled pancakes and eggs and sausage and bacon and it was okay, Dean thought. </p><p>But then, it all went to hell and it was all because of eggs.</p><p>Mostly, Dean liked to think of himself as a pretty chill guy. He had to be, what with Dad and Sam always locked in some battle with Dean in the middle. Ever since they lost Mom, it was Dean’s job to keep his family together, his job to be the peacemaker.</p><p>So at first, he wasn’t that mad about the eggs. He’d ordered runny eggs with his stack of waffles and a side of both bacon and sausage. When it came out everything looked perfect, the bacon was crisp and the waffles were that perfect golden brown color, but when he cut into his eggs, they weren’t runny.</p><p>“My eggs aren’t right,” he mumbled, poking at them with a fork.</p><p>“So send them back,” Lisa said, still chewing the piece of bacon he always let her steal right off his plate.</p><p>“Really?” Dean said. “That’s not a dick move?”</p><p>Lisa shrugged, focus already back on her phone. </p><p>Dean’s jaw flexed. He usually just manned up and ate what was in front of him. No need to make trouble for someone else. But he’d really been looking forward to eggs, runny just like his mom used to make. And everything else was so perfect that the eggs, which were probably fine under other circumstances, were just sitting there on the plate, taunting him.</p><p>He flagged down the waitress and checked her nametag.</p><p>“Hey there, Mildred,” Dean said, shooting her his patented Dean Winchester smirk, guaranteed to make the ladies want to give him whatever he was asking for. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I ask that these eggs be redone? I’d just love them to be a little bit runnier, sweetheart.”</p><p>“Sure thing, handsome,” Mildred said, giving him a wink. He put his hand over his heart and winked back.</p><p>He went back to his waffles, making sure the syrup was drizzled perfectly in each of the pockets, so when he cut into them he’d get that burst of sweetness on every bite.</p><p>“Dean,” Lisa said impatiently, and he looked up, belatedly realizing that she’d been talking to him.</p><p>“Sorry, Lis,” he said through a mouthful of waffle.</p><p>She rolled her eyes and tucked a strand of long brown hair behind her ear. </p><p>“As I was <em>saying</em>, we should probably start looking for a place if we’re going to move in together.”</p><p>Dean choked on his waffles. </p><p>“Uh, yeah, sure, I guess,” he said, pounding on his chest and trying to get the bit of waffle that had lodged somewhere to go down.</p><p>“Do you know what neighborhood you want to be in?” Lisa asked, pushing right past the awkwardness.</p><p>“Whatever you want is fine,” Dean said, before stuffing his cheeks full of more waffle and hoping she wouldn’t ask him more questions.</p><p>Lisa leaned back in the booth and folded her arms, taking a deep breath.</p><p>“Look, Dean, this is supposed to be for the both of us,” she said, her voice sliding into that patient tone that always made Dean feel like such a fuck up of a boyfriend. </p><p>Dean nodded, carefully chewing each bite of waffle with intense concentration, avoiding her gaze.</p><p>When Mildred swung by with a new plate of eggs and broke the tension, Dean was almost ready to move in with <em> her </em> out of pure gratitude. That was until she set it next to his elbow and he saw that instead of runny eggs he now had what looked like hard scrambled eggs.</p><p>“With compliments from Castiel,” Mildred said, smirking a bit. Dean looked up from his plate in confusion and followed her nod to the blank-faced short order cook behind the counter who was waving his spatula at him in acknowledgement.</p><p>What the fuck?</p><p>Dean tore his eyes from the cook and his wild sex hair to his very clearly wrong eggs. Was this dude just fucking with him? He tried to smile, but it just felt weird on his face. He didn’t know why the eggs were bothering him, but they were.</p><p>He looked back up at Mildred who was still giving him a mischievous smile, but her eyes were warm and there was nothing malicious in the curve of her lips. Dean couldn’t help but feel better.</p><p>“Well, hell Mildred,” he said, his smile finally twitching into something real. “It doesn't look like your boy over there got the memo. I wanted runny eggs, not scrambled. Maybe tell him that anyone who makes a waffle that delicious should be able to whip up some dang eggs.”</p><p>“You got it, hon,” Mildred said, her eyes dancing. Dean watched as she deftly scooped his plate back up and sashayed back across the restaurant before dropping it in front of the smart ass cook and cocking her hip out, talking animatedly with big hand gestures. </p><p>The guy listened intently to what she was saying, nodding occasionally and doing something fidgety with the spatula, sort of hefting it over and over. Dean’s eyes traced him from head to toe, and yeah. That was a good looking dude. He was tall and lean and had dark, dark hair that was messy enough that Dean was surprised they didn’t make him wear a hair net while cooking. Then again, it was Waffle House. Not exactly fine dining.</p><p>He felt Lisa’s hands on his and he met her eyes reluctantly.</p><p>“Dean,” she said gently. “If you aren’t ready to move in, that’s okay. It’s okay to take some time and make sure this is what you really want.”</p><p>“It <em> is </em> what I want,” Dean said, frustration mounting.</p><p>“If it’s what you wanted you’d be excited about it!” Lisa shot back, her patented “my shitty boyfriend is fucking up but I don’t want him to feel bad so I’ll pretend he’s not fucking up” patience starting to slip.</p><p>“I just ---,” Dean ran his hand through the spikes in his hair. “I just want to make you happy!”</p><p>“But what about <em>you</em>?” Lisa asked, which didn’t make any sense. Dean was trying so hard to give her what she wanted but it still wasn’t making her happy and he didn’t know what else he was supposed to be doing.</p><p>Once again, Mildred saved his ass, showing up and setting down a plate that had a piece of toast, perfectly toasted and… was that fucking egg salad? It even had that little dusting of paprika that most people forgot.</p><p>Dean just stared at it, helplessly, before he looked up at Mildred. She was straight up giggling, which should make him mad but she was too cheerful and sweet to be mad at. His eyes cut to that damn cook, who was leaned over the counter and staring at him shamelessly, obviously enjoying fucking with him.</p><p>“I think you made his day,” Mildred said conspiratorially, still chuckling.</p><p>This motherfucker. Well, he’d be damned if <em> Castiel </em> won this little battle so he picked an entire piece of toast covered in egg salad and shoved the whole thing in his mouth, chewing ostentatiously and making obscene “yum” noises. And damn, he had to give it to the weird cook guy, it might’ve been the best egg salad he’d ever eaten.</p><p>“Oh, Dean,” Lisa said, covering her face in her hands and sighing. Dean felt himself getting red and chewed as fast as possible so he could swallow his ridiculously huge bite. Mildred patted him on the back.</p><p>“Don’t choke now, honey,” she said, before grabbing some of their empty plates and whisking them away.</p><p>“Sorry Lis,” he said awkwardly as Mildred left. Damn, she couldn’t take him anywhere, could she? He even managed to make a fool of her in a Waffle House.</p><p>She gave him a small smile as he shamefacedly wiped his face with a napkin. </p><p>“It’s okay, Dean, but I’m tired. Can we leave?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, grabbing one last piece of bacon for the road and getting out of the booth.</p><p>As they passed Mildred on the way to the cash register, he nudged her. “Tell Cas this ain’t over.” </p><p>“Course I will,” she replied, beaming. “Wouldn’t dream of letting it be over.” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Castiel couldn’t tell you how many eggs he’d cooked in the week that had passed since the egg guy had come in. It had to be thousands, all different ways, but the best two orders of the week had been the hard scrambled and egg salad he’d made for the green-eyed guy with lips so perfect he’d noticed them from clear across the room. Cas took pride in his job even though he was “just” a short order cook at “just” the Waffle House, but it wasn’t really what Cas wanted to do with the rest of his life, so any chance to liven up his day was appreciated. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye Cas saw someone slide onto one of the barstools at the counter, which was a bit odd since no one ever sat there unless the place was packed full, and the place was never packed full. This was a Waffle House, not a sushi restaurant where half the fun of the meal was to see your food get prepared before you eat it. No, this was the kind of place where most people made a point <em> not </em> to look too closely at anything -- especially the kitchen -- because ignorance of health code violations is bliss when you just need something greasy to settle a hangover.</p><p>So when the guy sat down, Cas made a note. When he noticed that it was the egg guy from last week, that note got a little longer and Cas looked away to hide the tiny smile that had crept onto his face. Inside Cas was beaming, his mind immediately free-associating on eggs in a frantic but orderly cascade. Eggs. Chicken eggs. Chocolate eggs. Ostrich eggs. Ostrich eggs! Where could he find an ostrich egg in Kansas? How much do they cost? An ostrich egg is the equivalent of 24 chicken eggs; he could make 24 of the same thing or 24 different things. Hmm, but not things that each required a discreet yolk, so probably just one very large thing. He doesn’t think he could make one perfect runny ostrich egg because its much larger volume would mean it wouldn’t cook through the same way as a chicken egg. Perhaps he could cook one enormous fried egg on the flat top and serve it with a pizza cutter...</p><p>Castiel was thoroughly lost in thought imagining the egg guy grinning while he attempted to eat a wedge of fried egg like a floppy slice of pizza and didn’t realize he’d been staring off into space for the last several seconds. He also didn’t realize that said space happened to contain a pair of perfect lips that had curled into something that was either a chuckle or a cringe. Castiel should probably get better at discerning the difference. </p><p>“Hey, I asked if we could get some coffee?” Egg Guy hesitantly waved a hand at Cas, trying to get his attention.</p><p>Egg Guy’s girlfriend shifted in the bar stool and looked up from her book just long enough to catch the bizarre sight of the two men staring at each other. “Decaf, Dean,” she corrected. “At least for me.” </p><p>“Yeah, okay,” Egg Guy said. “So then one regular and one decaf coffee for Lisa, please.”</p><p>Cas blinked but stared just a bit longer, mesmerized by the perfect teeth Egg Guy -- <em> Dean </em> -- had to go with those perfect lips and the way he jammed the tip of his tongue between them while waiting for a reply. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“...Yes?”</p><p>“Yes, you can get some coffee.” Castiel finally looked somewhere other than Dean’s mouth, looking instead at Dean’s furrowed brow. Wait, why was Dean’s brow furrowed? Crap, Cas knew he’d missed something and quickly replayed the last few seconds in his mind. “Oh, you would like me to get you some coffee.”</p><p>Dean did that chuckle/cringe thing again, but this time Cas could tell it was clearly a chuckle. He suddenly felt warm, and not just because he was standing in front of an industrial flat top griddle that was hot enough to sublimate butter. Coming back from the coffee makers with two thick-walled mugs filled to the brim that threatened to slosh their contents with every step, Cas glanced up and felt a jolt of eye contact with Dean. Quickly darting his eyes back down to the coffee, to his shoes, to Dean’s folded hands, to anywhere not eyes, Cas set the mugs down and twisted them so the handles were facing his customers.</p><p>“Would, um,” Castiel cleared his throat, “Would you like to order something?” Cas had felt a frisson of excitement when he saw Dean walk into the Waffle House earlier, and again when Dean had sat at the counter, but now that Cas had to actually take the guy’s order the excitement was fading. Cas would happily engage in elaborate egg-based pranks with Dean, but would rather not have to actually talk to him while doing it.</p><p>“Yeah let’s do a short stack of pancakes, uh, a side of sausage, and,” and here Dean dipped his head to catch Cas’ eye, “some runny eggs.” He ended his order with a wink that momentarily fried every synapse in Castiel’s brain. Not knowing what else to do, Castiel pantomimed back an exaggerated wink, something like the physical equivalent of replying “you too” when someone at the movie theater tells you to enjoy the film. The smile that had been on Dean’s face collapsed a little as he looked away from Cas and turned toward his girlfriend. She said she didn’t want anything else but Cas barely heard it, too busy replaying that disastrous <em> fucking </em> wink over and over.</p><p>There was only one way Cas could make up for the wink from hell, and that was by getting Dean’s order just right. He turned his back to the couple, made sure he positioned himself between them and the griddle, and got to work.</p><p>In the background, he could hear the low rumble of Dean’s voice as he and Lisa picked up what seemed like a long standing argument. He only caught snippets, but it seemed like they couldn’t decide whether or not to move in with each other. Cas tried not to listen, it was rude to eavesdrop and especially rude to eavesdrop on something so personal. Instead he focused on perfecting Dean’s order. It was important.</p><p>“Here you are, sir.” Cas set the plate of pancakes down in front of Dean and turned back around to grab the rest of his order. Dean had immediately started dressing up his pancakes, lifting them apart to slide butter in between them, then starting the process over with syrup. Cas waited, pretending to be fussing with the eggs and sausage that were already perfectly arranged on the plate. He needed Dean’s full attention for the reveal.</p><p>“Man, these pancakes are seriously great,” Dean choked out around an entire quarter of the stack of pancakes that was already stuffed into his cheeks, making him look like a particularly handsome chipmunk. “Dude you---”</p><p>Cas set the plate down.</p><p>“Uh.”</p><p>Cas turned the plate and smiled at Dean. The plate also smiled at Dean. </p><p>“Your eggs and sausage.” Cas was clearly pleased with himself. It wasn’t fried-ostrich-egg-pizza levels of genius, but it was enough to make up for the disastrous wink and it would definitely make Dean laugh.</p><p>“What---” Dean poked at the sunny side up eggs with his fork and sighed. “You could have done the eyes with runny eggs, ya know, and it would have worked just as well.” His eyes were dull as he stabbed at one of the sausages that formed a smiling mouth beneath the ‘eyes’ and took a bite.</p><p>Cas’ levity had evaporated. “But that would have ruined the joke.”</p><p>“How? It still would've been a face.”</p><p>“That… was not the joke.” Castiel was entirely serious now, eyebrows furrowed, lips drawn tight. “I’ll make the eggs again.”</p><p>Before Dean could stop him, Cas turned and was on his way back to the griddle. "Hey!" Dean called out. "<em>Runny</em>. <em>Eggs</em>. Yeah?"</p><p>"<em>Yes,</em> Dean."</p><p>Behind him, Lisa was brightly telling Dean a funny story about her yoga class that afternoon, which Dean was laughing at a bit too loudly. The story ended and there was a long pause, which Cas couldn’t help but try and fill by banging at the grill completely unnecessarily.</p><p>When Cas turned back to Dean a few minutes later with the most elaborate egg dish he could prepare with the ingredients on hand, the pair were sitting in tense silence, Lisa looking pointedly down at her book. </p><p>He’d remembered the can of caviar sitting in the back of a cupboard at home, a gag gift from his brother Gabriel, and had actually tried to teleport himself back there (he knew he couldn’t, but what if he <em>could</em>) just to grab it, but alas. No ostrich eggs either or emu eggs or quail eggs or -- hmm, platypus and echidnas lay eggs despite being mammals. Cas wondered if the eggs were edible; he’d have to google that later.</p><p>Right now though, Cas was focused on Dean’s reaction to the most perfect execution of egg-in-a-hole Castiel had ever produced. The toast was a beautiful golden brown, slightly shiny from the butter that had seeped into it while it was grilling; the egg yolk was still a little soft where it sat in the hole Cas had carefully made for it in the toast, the whites cooked through and just starting to get crispy. Cas had even dabbed a little bacon grease on the toast as a final touch, waiting until it had soaked in before presenting it to Dean.</p><p>Dean looked… confused. “This, this looks great man. I mean,” Dean was practically drooling at the smell wafting up from the plate, “But I’m not sure you’re gettin’ it.”</p><p>Lisa looked up from her book -- Cas had completely forgotten she was there, he was so focused on Dean -- and noticed that Dean had a lot of plates in front of him. “Dean, how many eggs did you order? Oh,” she gestured at the egg-in-a-hole, “What’s that?”</p><p>“Honestly, I don’t know.” Dean was still looking at Cas, while Cas was looking at Dean trying to figure out why Dean was looking at Cas, resulting in a weird staring match between the two men. Cas got squintier and squintier while Dean’s eyebrows moved higher and higher and when Cas finally deployed a head tilt Dean barked out a laugh that said “what the fuck is going on here” better than any words could have. The spell was broken.</p><p>Meanwhile, Lisa had taken a few bites of the toast (“No,” Cas thought, “I made that for Dean!”) and slipped her book back in her purse. Cas followed her movement as she placed a hand on Dean’s forearm, rubbing the rolled up cuff of his very soft looking flannel shirt and wordlessly indicating that they’d spent enough of their day at a Waffle House.</p><p>“Uh yeah, thanks for the eggs?” Dean said as a goodbye to Cas, then followed Lisa to the cash register near the front door.</p><p>Cas let himself sneak a few lingering glances at Dean now that Dean wouldn’t be able to see him do it, and very suddenly remembered that bowlegs were his favorite thing in the entire world even though he’d never thought about them before that moment. He didn’t notice Mildred walk up to the counter -- he was entirely focused on committing Dean’s gait to memory -- and jumped a little when she followed Cas’ eyes and let out a chuckle.</p><p>“You get that boy his ‘<em>runny eggs</em>'?” she asked, drawing air quotes around those last two words just like she had the week before and emphasizing them in a way that Cas had quite frankly found confusing.</p><p>“I keep trying, but no, I don’t think so. Not yet.”</p><p>“Don’t worry sugar, I’m sure you’ll have another chance.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Things with Lisa had been tense since they decided not to move in together. Or rather, since Lisa had decided that Dean wasn’t ready to move in together, even though he’d told her time and again that he was fine with it. </p><p>Now they were sitting at Waffle House, and Lisa was fidgeting. She hadn’t even taken her book out of her purse and she was perched on the stool at the counter, looking uncomfortable.</p><p>Cas wandered over, bright blue eyes intense in that way that sent a shiver down Dean’s spine.</p><p>“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, x-raying him with his laser eyes.</p><p>“Hey Cas,” Dean said, amused despite himself. Somehow, despite how weird Cas was, the cook always managed to make him grin, a bit of tension melting off his shoulders. Cas was playing some game that Dean didn’t know the rules to and he still hadn’t convinced Cas to make him runny eggs, but maybe today was the day. Maybe for once he could ask for what he wanted and get it. </p><p>“Okay, buddy,” Dean said, not even opening the menu. "Can I get a short stack and <em>runny eggs</em>?” He put his hands out and pretended to pray, begging the guy with his eyes. </p><p>Cas full on beamed at him, and goddamn he was pretty. Dean knew that men were supposed to be handsome, and Castiel was, what with the jawline and the stubble and the voice made of gravel but sometimes, sometimes he was just really fucking pretty.</p><p>The cook turned to start cooking, and Dean forced his eyes away from the way Cas’ uniform hugged his thighs and tried to focus on Lisa, who was radiating discomfort. </p><p>She took a deep breath and said, “Dean, we need to talk.” Dean’s heart dropped all the way into his stomach. He knew it. He fucking <em> knew </em> this was coming but he’d hoped he was wrong, that he could figure out a way to fix it, but of course he didn’t, of course he’d failed. </p><p>“Dean, I need you to listen to me, really listen to me, okay?” Lisa said, putting her hand on his. </p><p>“Not the words in your head, but <em> my </em> words, okay?”</p><p>Dean nodded, a lump in his throat. He knew where this was going. Everyone in this fucking Waffle House knew where this was going. The old guy in the booth on the other side of the restaurant could fully sense that he was a fuck up and a shitty boyfriend and he was about to get dumped.</p><p>“I love you, Dean,” Lisa said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You are a wonderful, caring, funny, smart man and you were a great boyfriend.”</p><p>Dean scoffed. He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, unable to face her while she spewed this bullshit. </p><p>Lisa reached out and grabbed his face, forcing him to meet her beautiful brown eyes. </p><p>“Dean, I love you, but you are not happy! You and I? We don’t work. And I can’t sit here and watch you try and force yourself into loving me. It hurts too much, and I deserve better. I deserve someone who is excited to spend their life with me, and that’s not you."</p><p>Dean blinked rapidly, trying to hold back his tears. He was not going to fucking cry like a pansy little girl in a Waffle House. He refused to let his life be that.</p><p>Lisa stood and leaned into him, their foreheads pressed together and their breath mingling, before she kissed his cheek.</p><p>“Goodbye, Dean,” she whispered, with one last long look between them, and then she left.</p><p>Dean hunched over the counter, covering his face so the other diners didn’t have to see him fully lose his shit. He felt absolutely scraped raw.</p><p>“Here you are! Egg white omelet, just like you ordered.” </p><p>A plate dropped in front of him, the saddest, most pathetic omelet he’d ever seen just sitting limp on the plate. He looked up from it into Castiel’s eyes, who was grinning at him like he’d just brought him the Taj Mahal of eggs instead of some hippie organic shit that Sam would eat.</p><p>“Are you fucking serious?” Dean said, voice low and dangerous.</p><p>Cas’ gummy smile started to wilt.</p><p>“Uh, yes,” he said, uncertainly. “You know, just like you like them…” Cas trailed off as Dean stood, his whole body shaking with anger. He was so angry he felt like he wasn’t even really in his body.</p><p>“All that I have ever asked you for,” Dean yelled, “is some fucking RUNNY EGGS. Is it so hard to get RUNNY FUCKING EGGS? I can’t even have ONE THING!?”</p><p>Cas backed up, eyes wide and freaked out. Damn, Dean was scaring him. Dean needed to calm down, he needed to sit down, tease Cas a little to make sure he knew Dean wasn’t actually angry with <em> him, </em>it wasn’t the eggs, it wasn’t about the eggs at all. </p><p>Instead Dean watched as his hand reached down and picked up the plate with that fucking omelet on it and then somehow he was hurling the stupid omelet towards the back wall, where it didn’t even make a decent splat before falling limply to the floor.</p><p>Dean was breathing heavily, and he slammed the plate on the counter, hearing it crack. Everyone in the place was staring at him, mouths agape.</p><p>“If you’d just brought me the damn eggs, none of this would’ve happened!” he said, voice hoarse from yelling. “Goddamnit, Cas.” </p><p>Dean walked. It felt like a dream, the silence following him as he walked up the aisle and through the door, straight to Baby. Automatically he reached into his pocket for his keys and then just stood there, hand aching around the fistful of jagged metal. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.</p><p>“Dean?” Cas’ gravelly voice floated across the parking lot. Dean turned to see him leaning out of the restaurant, face painted with concern, free hand rubbing up and down a pant leg. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Dean shook his head wearily and trudged in the direction of home. He’d walk.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Several Tuesday nights came and went, and still no Dean. The Tuesday of the disastrous incident with the omelet, Cas had stopped off at a 24-hour grocery store after his shift and bought two dozen eggs. By the time the next Tuesday had rolled around, Cas had practiced cooking 24 eggs to runny perfection and had zero clean spoons in his house. That morning while he ate his cereal with a fork he thought about what he’d say to Dean, playing through various possible conversations to find the best things to talk about. Maybe he’d tell Dean how much he liked that long black car that had still been in the parking lot when Cas left that night but was gone by the time he came in the next day. But Dean never showed.</p><p>He didn’t show on the second Tuesday either, or the third.</p><p>Castiel looked at the stupid tin of cheap caviar he’d brought with him to work weeks ago, intending to serve it as the “second course” after the omelet. He really should just throw it away; Dean wasn’t coming back, and even if he did it was obvious that whatever game he and Dean had been playing was over. Worse, Cas wasn’t so sure now that it had ever actually existed in the first place. Grabbing the tin and getting ready to beat himself up again for the tenth time in as many days, Cas turned toward the garbage can beneath the counter and felt a familiar gaze on him. Looking up, he saw a very tired looking Dean sitting before him.</p><p>Instead of any of the things Cas had rehearsed, things that would have made Cas sound cool or smooth or like a normal fucking human being, Cas opened with “Hello Dean, you look bad.” </p><p>A split second later his eyes went wide and Cas quickly followed up with “No! I’m sorry, I mean,” Cas took a breath. “I’m sorry, Dean, I really am.”</p><p>Dean let out a huff of air, a sigh and a sad laugh all rolled into one, and slowly shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but cut himself off when he saw the tin in Cas’ hand. “What---? Oh Jesus Christ, Cas.” Dean was genuinely laughing now, though he still sounded exhausted. “<em>Please </em> don’t give me caviar.” </p><p>“No. Well, I was going to but you left.” Dean looked pained at the memory, but also a little bewildered that Cas had intended to serve him caviar at a Waffle House. “Let me make you something else instead.” Cas turned back to the pot of water that sat boiling on a burner next to the griddle and gently dropped an egg in.</p><p>“Hey so uh,” Dean talked to Cas’ back. “Why were you going to give me caviar?”</p><p>“Eggs.” Cas replied without turning around. After realizing Dean wasn’t going to say anything else, Cas continued. “Caviar are eggs. I thought we were playing a game about eggs.”</p><p>Dean spoke slowly. “You thought I came in here week after week to play a game with you. About eggs.”</p><p>“Yes?” Castiel leaned over the pot, feeling the steam hit his already red cheeks. “Mildred said you wanted ‘runny eggs.’” Cas held a hand up on either side of his head and made exaggerated air quotes around the last two words before continuing on. “That meant you wanted runny eggs that were <em> not </em> runny eggs.”</p><p>“Wow dude, no!  I really just wanted some runny eggs.”</p><p>“Yes, I know that now,” Cas said as he finally turned back around and placed a small dish in front of Dean. It had what looked to the casual observer like a peeled hard boiled egg on it.</p><p>“Oh man, I hope this is what I think it is.”</p><p>Cas’ mouth quirked up into a quiet smile and his eyes sparkled. “I hope it is too, Dean.”</p><p>Dean picked up a knife and fork and gingerly cut into the egg. It was soft under the knife and the yolk spilled out yellow and thick.</p><p>Cas’ smile got a little bigger and he turned around to start boiling another egg for Dean. “You’re lucky I couldn’t find an ostrich egg. I had plans.”</p><p>Dean chuckled, the sound of it mixing with the scrape of his knife on the plate as he tried to get every last bit of yolk. “You’re kinda weird, you know that?”</p><p>Cas was cleaning the last of the shell off the second egg, his back still to Dean. He tensed a bit and felt the rock that was already in his stomach turn red hot. “I do know that, yes.”</p><p>“It’s a good weird. I like it.”</p><p>Castiel was beaming when he turned around to serve Dean his second perfect runny egg.</p><p>After a few more eggs prepared and eaten in companionable silence, Dean said something about a “Cool Hand Luke” (Cas didn’t know what that was and made a mental note to look it up later) and leaned away from the counter looking satisfied, but hesitant.</p><p>“Look, Cas, I didn’t come here just to eat,” Dean said, leaning forward and running a hand through his hair. “I really gotta apologize about last time, man. That shit was not cool. I lost it and I took a lot of my shit out on you, and” at this point Dean’s lips twitched into a small smile “the <em>eggs</em>. But it wasn’t ever about the eggs, and I’m sorry. It was unacceptable for me to yell at you and throw things at you. Even if egg white omelets are, frankly, a crime against nature.” </p><p>“Thank you Dean, and I <em> am </em> sorry. Egg white omelets truly are an abomination,” Castiel said with a solemnity that might have seemed sarcastic coming from someone else, but was entirely genuine. Dean huffed out a laugh but still looked like he could use some distraction from his thoughts. </p><p>“If it makes you feel any better, three other customers also threw food that week,” (Dean scrunched his brows) “and four the week before.” (...and now looked alarmed) “Oh, not at<em> me</em>, just in general.”</p><p>Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Yeah that really doesn’t make me feel better. No one should have to deal with that much bullshit at work.”</p><p>“Alright. Um, would something funny, maybe learning that I don’t like eggs, make you feel better?”</p><p>At this, Dean laughed short and sharp. “You work at a Waffle House!”</p><p>Before Cas could reply, Mildred sidled up to the counter, snapping her gum and tapping a pencil on the order pad in her hand. “You boys doin’ okay?” </p><p>Turning to Dean, Mildred gave him a sympathetic “Missed you these last weeks,” then sent a head tilt Cas’ way and said “<em>He </em> missed ya too, handsome.” And with a wink and a grin she sauntered away to greet another customer.</p><p>Cas felt his face flush and realized he was fidgeting with the spatula in his hand. He stilled himself when Dean started to speak.</p><p>“You missed me, Cas?” Dean said, eyes brightening. When he smiled big like that, the corners of his eyes crinkled. He was beautiful.</p><p>“Yes,” Castiel replied.</p><p>“Well, maybe I missed you too,” Dean said, smirking. “Or maybe I just missed your eggs. You managed to not give me what I wanted and still make me delicious eggs every time. Except for the egg white omelet. Please never make me that again.”</p><p>“I won’t, I promise,” Cas agreed, a light blush traveling up his cheekbones. Dean made it seem like maybe they’d be seeing each other a lot, like maybe he wanted to spend time with him.</p><p>“Here’s the thing, Cas,” Dean said, leaning over the counter and looking at him intently. “I was told that I need to get better at knowing what I want, and so for the last month I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and trying to get better at separating what <em> I </em> want from what other people want from <em> me </em> and, I’ll be honest, it’s a work in progress and there’s a lot of shit on my mind. But I have decided on at least one thing, so uh, you want to get out of here?”</p><p>“Eventually yes, but for now Waffle House is a perfectly good place to work.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes crinkled with laughter and Cas could sense the smile hidden behind the hand Dean was rubbing down his face. “Cas, you are somethin’ else.” When Dean looked back at Cas, his green eyes were sparkling. “No man, I mean, do you want to go somewhere with me?” The laughter had subsided but the glow was still there on Dean’s face. “Do you want to go to dinner tonight?”</p><p>Cas thought for a moment, squinting at Dean. “Are you asking me on a date?”</p><p>“I’m trying to! You ain’t making it very easy,” Dean said, laughing and rolling his eyes good naturedly. </p><p>“Yes. I would like that very much.”</p><p>“Good,” Dean said. “I would too.” </p><p>Later, after Cas finished what somehow felt like both the longest and shortest shift of his life, he stepped out into the cool evening air and saw a familiar face looking back at him. Dean was leaning up against that sleek black car, arms crossed loosely, worn leather jacket catching the breeze. He waved when he saw Cas, calling out his name in a reversal of the last time they’d been in this parking lot together.</p><p>Dean walked toward Cas, meeting him halfway. Standing this close, finally without a counter between them, Cas had to tilt his head up a little to meet Dean’s eyes. The two men just stood there for a moment enjoying the closeness, Cas’ mind empty for once until a single thought -- “oh, freckles” -- drifted through it.</p><p>“You ready to go?”</p><p>“Yes, Dean. I’m ready,” Cas said with a smile. Everything was just right.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>A crash and some muttered swearing woke Dean, and he smiled into his pillow as he heard Cas stumbling out of their room and into the kitchen, where pots started banging. Dean covered his face and laughed quietly. He was pretty sure that Cas thought he was being quiet, but if there’s one thing Dean had learned over the past year, it’s that his boyfriend was whatever the opposite of a morning person was. It took him at least two cups of coffee before he stopped glaring at people, usually wrapped up in blankets looking like a fluffy little owl as he inhaled enough caffeine for coherency.</p><p>Dean rolled on his back and stretched as good smells started wafting in from the kitchen. He was perfectly comfortable, and in no hurry to leave his warm and cozy bed. He dozed a little, just enjoying the domestic bliss of having nowhere to go today, looking forward to a day spent with his gorgeous boyfriend.</p><p>“Dean?” </p><p>Dean opened his eyes and groaned in anticipation. Make that his gorgeous boyfriend and a stack of french toast, perfectly dusted with powdered sugar and raspberries. This must be heaven and Castiel his personal angel.</p><p>“You spoil me, baby,” he murmured as he sat up and Cas brought the tray in and carefully set it on his lap, before climbing back into bed and snuggling up with him.</p><p>“It’s important, Dean,” Cas said, mouth moued in the most adorable of pouts. “It’s our first morning after moving in together.”</p><p>Dean just had to kiss him, had to try and catch that endearing expression with his lips. Cas sighed and melted into his side, sweet like honey as Dean nibbled at his bottom lip. Dean lost himself for a few happy moments, before leaving a few soft kisses on Cas’ cheek and turning his attention to his breakfast.</p><p>“Oh my god,” he moaned, mouth full of french toast. “Cas, it’s so fucking good.”</p><p>Cas just watched fondly as Dean worked his way through his french toast, occasionally accepting a bite as Dean fed him.</p><p>“Is it what you wanted? I know it's no egg white omelet but…" Castiel deadpanned, head tilted and the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.</p><p>Dean looked at him.</p><p>“It’s perfect, Cas.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading... we are as hungry for kudos and comments as Dean is for french toast and Cas' kisses!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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